


The cards we are dealt

by monkshoodr



Category: Pitch (TV 2016)
Genre: F/M, Fix-It of Sorts, Gen, Poker, Team Bonding
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-28
Updated: 2017-10-14
Packaged: 2018-12-07 23:30:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,671
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11634204
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/monkshoodr/pseuds/monkshoodr
Summary: Tensions are still running high after Mike's almost-trade and Ginny's injury. Mike decides to host road trip poker games in his hotel room to help restore order to the clubhouse.





	1. Ante In

**Author's Note:**

> Based off a [headcanon](https://monkshoodr.tumblr.com/post/153803858367/clkit-monkshoodr-clkit-your-headcanon-run-is) I sent to [@clkit](http://clkit.tumblr.com/) in November that I always meant to turn into a fic.
> 
> Title taken from a quote by Randy Pausch: “We cannot change _the cards we are dealt_ , just how we play the game.”

 

Mike thinks it’s probably a good indication of how much Ginny doesn’t want to go home to North Carolina that she’s chosen to travel with the team.

 

She showed up in the clubhouse, two days post-surgery, arm tightly immobilized across her chest and a therapy ball clutched in her grip. Her clear eyes and slight winces showing exactly how little of her prescribed pain medications she’d been taking.

 

In the days since her reappearance, she’s moved from Padre to Padre, unable to spend time with anyone who shows her the slightest hint of pity. She’s started sitting beside Buck in the dugout - Al having lost her favour by suggesting she take a few days to unwind at a spa. Buck is, as usual, a man of few words, and keeps the conversation limited to baseball.

 

Blip hovers over her like a mother duck, hissing at anyone who roughhouses too close to her arm, and shoving a bottle of pills at her whenever she makes the smallest grimace. He saves his worst glares for Mike, appearing behind Ginny like a scowling shadow whenever Mike enters her radius.

 

Not that he’s tried.

 

He’s giving her space and time. Space and time to sort through the mess they made on the sidewalk outside Boardner’s - he can still feel the brush of curls against his cheek when he closes his eyes. But also space and time to sort through that night at the hospital.

 

* * *

 

He’d watched replay after replay of her injury that night, checking his phone every few minutes, wishing she’d call and let him know her prognosis. Praying and hoping that it wouldn’t be an end to her career. Eventually, he couldn’t wait any longer. He just needed to see her for himself.

 

So in the early hours of the morning, he charmed his way past the nurse and into her hospital room, just so he could sit with her and maybe hold her hand. He hadn’t expected her to start sobbing in her sleep, breaking his heart in the process.

 

He started moving on instinct, before his brain could process whether it was the right thing to do, and suddenly found himself on the bed beside her. He gathered her close, tucking her head to his chest and reaching a careful arm around her body to cup her injured elbow with a warm hand.

 

Mike held her while she cried. Held her as the sobs turned to whimpers and her breathing evened out. He held her as she cuddled close, nestling her forehead into his neck, and blowing damp breaths down the open collar of his shirt.

 

He didn’t move until the sun started lighting up her room, carefully withdrawing his body and adjusting her position on the bed. He moved silently across the floor, pausing in the doorway to give her a final glance only to see her eyes, wide and open, looking back at him.

 

Or maybe it was past him.

 

She didn’t say anything, her eyes drifting shut a moment later. He’d waited a minute, staring at the fan of lashes across her cheeks and willing them to open again, before slipping out.

 

* * *

 

He doesn’t know if she knows. Or how many painkillers she was on. Or if she thinks the whole thing was a dream. She hasn’t said anything about it, so neither has he.

 

She hasn’t said anything to him at all.

 

Lately she barely even looks in his direction. Mike knows, because he’s been staring at her a lot.

  
  
Damn it, he misses her.

 

It would almost have been better if the trade had gone through. At least then they would still be talking, even if it was over the phone. Probably even more than they had before, because their moment on the sidewalk wouldn’t have been interrupted by Oscar, and they would have...fuck.

 

Mike thinks she’s just as affected by that night as he is. Or at least he hopes that’s why she dropped the billionaire soon after. She didn’t tell him herself, but he heard Sonny asking her about it in the hallway as he sat in his ice bath. He strained to hear them over his chattering teeth, all the while wishing he could see Ginny’s face to figure out what she was thinking.

  
  
“Baker, you dumped your hot billionaire? Just when you were going to finally get some?” Sonny’s voice drops to a teasing whisper. “Did you find out he was into some Fifty Shades of Grey type shit?”

  
  
“Sonny…”

  
  
“Seriously, you okay? Want me to get the guys together to tell him off?”

  
  
“First of all, I can handle myself,” Mike knows from her tone that Ginny’s straightened to her full height, and is probably glaring just enough to make Sonny take a step back. “And second, he didn’t do anything wrong. He just doesn’t get why I want to stay here and rehab, instead of flying off to some island with him to heal.”

  
  
“You want to hang around a place with Butch’s smelly socks instead of go drink on a beach? Can I go with him instead?”

 

“Your wife might have something to say about that."

 

“Nah, she’d understand. I mean, she might move to LA and make a play for Clayton Kershaw while I’m gone, but fair’s fair.”

  
  
Mike listens to the fading notes of Ginny’s laugh as the two of them walk away.

 

* * *

 

 He hasn’t returned any of Rachel’s calls. There were a few times he almost did, sitting on his couch, his finger hovering over her name on the phone screen. (Not nearly as many times as he’s almost called Baker.) But he’s still trying to figure out what to say.

 

He knows Rachel wants an update on Ginny’s condition, although she should know by now that he never gives her stories about his teammates. It was a big point of contention throughout their marriage that she’d reluctantly come to accept. Being married to him had given her greater inside access than most sports reporters, even if she found that being associated with the WAGs chafed at her a bit.

 

The story of Ginny Baker’s recovery, however, is too big for Rachel to let it lie, and Mike isn’t ready for the fight that will bring. (No way in hell is he giving Rachel anything; he’s still working on regaining Ginny’s trust after the Amelia thing. While any progress he might have made is all shot to hell now, he’s not going to let Ginny down again.)

 

The bigger issue is that Rachel wants an update on where they stand after their night together, and he doesn’t have an answer for her.

 

The more he thinks about it, the more he’s coming to realize that Rachel doesn’t know what she wants. And he’s beginning to see that the life he thought he wanted with Rachel before she left him, and when he was trying to get her back, isn’t what he wants any more. There’s a new, very different future that he wants now, and he doesn’t think he can give up the chance that it might happen.

 

Mike wishes he could call Blip.

 

For a guy several years his junior who seems to have a rock solid personal life, he’s a surprisingly good sounding board for all of Mike’s relationship woes. He’d only known Blip a few months before finding out about Rachel’s cheating, but Blip took the whole thing in stride, and was unexpectedly tolerant of his post-divorce groupie phase.

 

Not that Mike can talk to Blip about Ginny.

 

He knows Blip figured out that something happened, or at least has his suspicions. At least he hopes that’s why Blip is acting as a buffer between him and Ginny, rather than Ginny having asked him to. Mike doesn’t think he’s fallen so far in Blip’s estimation that Blip would think he’d hurt her, or that Blip would blame him for Ginny’s injury by virtue of the fact that he wanted her to pitch that game.

 

He’s beating himself up enough for that.

 

It’s not like he was the only one who thought it was the right choice. He doesn’t think even Blip could have dragged Ginny off the mound that day, no matter how high her pitch count climbed. She was pitching too damn beautifully. Then the cheap shot of laying a fucking bunt…no. It’s too late to dwell on it. (Even if he plans on making Butch bean the guy next season.)

 

There’s something up with Blip though, beyond his frustrations over the fractured team dynamics and his lost chance at the captaincy. It’s not just that Blip isn’t talking to him, he isn’t really talking to anyone apart from Ginny. Ginny, who keeps frowning at Blip when his back is turned, and isn’t letting herself indulge in their usual teasing brother-sister relationship.

 

Mike thinks he could help, maybe, if Blip would let him. Or at least take him out for a drink to get his mind off whatever is bothering him. But Blip would have to talk to him first, and he isn’t quite sure how to breach that gap.

 

Fixing the team, though? That he can do. Doesn’t matter if their odds of making the playoffs are purely mathematical at this point and dwindling fast. He can bring them together, and with any luck, repair his friendships with Blip and Ginny in the process.

 

* * *

 

 He makes his move before the first game of a three-game series against the Marlins. The team is getting ready for warm ups and Ginny has finally appeared from physio, gingerly massaging her triceps above the sling.

 

“Alright everyone, listen up!” He’s pleased to note that most of them turn his way, even Blip turns his head to look.

 

“Everyone unaccompanied by their wife, girlfriend, other non-Padres friends, or without plans to see the Miami nightlife,” he nods at Livan, who’s been talking for weeks about his plans for a visit to Little Havana. “Everyone who’s free tonight is ordered to report to my hotel room post-game for some friendly competition and gambling. Bring your wallets, ready to pay up.”

 

There’s a few loud whoops, and a couple of agonized sighs, from some of the older Padres.

 

“No, cap, really? Road trip poker is back?” Salvamini grins. “Dusty paid for a year’s worth of diapers last time.”

 

“Hey, if you didn’t have so many kids, you wouldn’t need a diaper budget.” Voorhies crosses his arms over his chest. “Besides, maybe I’ve gotten good and you’ll end up paying for that new sound system I want.”

 

“No way, buddy,” Salvi slings an arm over Dusty’s neck pulling him down to give him a noogie. “You’ve got a tell, and I know exactly how to read it.”

 

“Hey Baker,” Stubbs calls from across the room. “Tell me you’ve never played poker before, and I’ll be able to fleece you out of some of that Nike endorsement cash.”

 

“No, I’ve never played before,” Mike narrows his eyes at her. She looks far too innocent and Blip looks too straight faced. “But it can’t be that hard if you idiots can do it.”

 

Oh, she’s definitely a shark. Baker’s going to finish tonight several thousand dollars richer, and with a bunch of weeping Padres begging her for mercy. Mike isn’t even mad. Not when he can see a hint of dimples for the first time in weeks. He can’t wait to see it happen, even if he has to pay for the privilege.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was initially going to post this in one go once it was completed, but I've been struggling to finish. I figured posting might help give me the motivation, or force my hand a bit.
> 
> Come say hi on [tumblr](http://monkshoodr.tumblr.com/) anytime.


	2. Check

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for the amazing response to the first chapter. I was totally blown away by all the comments.
> 
> I hope you'll forgive the delay in posting this chapter and responding to the comments on the first; real life got in the way. 
> 
> I've finally figured out how to bridge the gap between my original fluffy team shenanigans headcanon and the 2000 words of Mike Lawson angsting to himself that my brain apparently decided was an appropriate way to start a fluffy fic. In theory, that means the next two chapters should be finished soon.

There’s a part of him that wants to take credit for the team’s win today. (His two-run double in the sixth helped, but the final score line was Padres 5 - Marlins 4, so it was definitely a team effort.) The team just seemed to play better today; there was less tension in the dugout. Some of the Padres joked around, trying to take the mickey out of Javanes for almost walking into the Marlins dugout after striking out the side in the fourth.

 

Even Al looked slightly less grumpy than usual, but that probably had more to do with the fact that Ginny decided to sit next to him during the game. Mike saw the look of surprised delight that Al couldn’t quite hide as she dropped down next to him in the top of the second. (Mike can’t imagine what his own face would look like if she decided to sit beside him again. Probably a damn sight stupider than the skip’s.)

 

He knows it’s not entirely on him, but he hopes the promise of poker was enough to boost morale a little bit. With any luck, the team hanging out and socializing tonight will improve things even more. 

 

* * *

  
He’d planned in advance for this, before the road trip, making sure he’d upgraded his accommodations to a suite with a separate living room. (Even with the rest of the team there, he doesn’t think his imagination is ready for the visual of him and Ginny in a room with a bed.) The hotel staff had been happy to provide extra chairs and a table large enough to fit a bunch of pro-athletes around it. Mike had brought his own set of poker chips, in a well-worn silver case, which had been gathering dust for the last season and a half. (Since Rachel left, his mind traitorously supplied.)

 

Now he’s just working himself up worrying about how the evening will go; checking that there’s beer and snacks in the fridge and space for anything anyone else brings (yes and yes). Holding himself off from checking, yet again, to see if he left anything embarrassing out in the bathroom for anyone to see. (The bottle of Just For Men that he’s been using to spot treat the areas on his beard that have grown...lighter...in the past few months definitely did not make the trip.)

 

A flurry of knocks announces Salvi, Dusty and Stubbs’ arrival, and they sweep past him to beeline straight for the fridge. At least they came with beer to supplement the supply he knows they’re going to go through. He spots Ginny and Blip loitering at the end of the hallway, and has to convince himself that they weren’t waiting for other people to arrive so they wouldn’t be the first ones to show up.

 

Yes, it’s been awkward, but he doesn’t think they would avoid being alone with him. At least, he hopes that’s not the case.

 

He lets them come at their own pace, turning instead to bark at Stubbs to use a coaster rather than wait for them in the open doorway. They time their arrival to coincide with Butch and Sonny who both immediately settle into their regular positions around the table as if no time has passed since the last team poker game.

 

“Baker, you still on meds?” Salvamini calls from the fridge, waggling a beer bottle in her direction.

 

“As long as it’s just one, it’s fine,” she replies, cutting a glance at Blip almost daring him to contradict her.

 

“Attagirl,” Salvi cheers, removing the cap and placing the bottle by her uninjured arm. He makes a big show of opening and delivering everyone else’s drinks saving them all from a feminista rant.

 

At this point, Mike is kind of missing those, and wouldn’t even mind if that was the only outcome he got from this evening. Especially if it was directed at someone else, and he could just sit back and enjoy the show.

 

There’s a timid knock on the door before Omar pokes his head in. “Room for me?”

 

“Omar!” Ginny calls from the table. “You decided not to go out partying with Livan?”

 

Omar shakes his head no, his cheeks flushed a dark pink. He’s obviously lured by the power of Ginny’s dimples, because he slides into the empty seat at her side despite the glares both Mike and Blip are sending his way.

 

Mike grabs the empty chair between Butch and Sonny, pulling the deck of cards toward him to start shuffling. “This is everyone that’s coming, right?”

 

“Think so,” Sonny says.

 

“Get your hands off my chips, Sal.”

 

“C’mon, Voorhies,” Salvi mimes pulling the pile toward himself. “I’m just saving you the time and effort of losing.”

 

“Alright you jokers,” Mike interrupts the chorus of taunts aimed in Dusty’s direction. “The game is no limits Texas Hold'em. The blinds are going to be at 5/10 for the whole night, unless Sonny decides to take 10 minutes per turn again, in which case his buy in will be raised to $200.”

 

“Hey!”

 

Butch nods, “I think that’s fair.”

 

Mike deals and waits to check his hole cards until he’s catalogued everyone else’s reaction to theirs. Stubbs definitely has something—probably suited face cards—but Blip has nothing. Ginny narrows her eyes just slightly when she first peeks, then sticks her tongue between her teeth and tries her best to reign in the dimples.

 

He almost laughs out loud when Ginny throws in her chips out of turn, perfectly baiting a trap for Stubbs and Sonny to fall for hook, line and sinker. Mike folds his uninspiring ace-six offsuit and sits back to enjoy the show.

 

* * *

 

It took an hour for everyone at the table to clue into the fact that Ginny was hustling them, and not just cruising by on beginner’s luck. (Okay, most of them figured it out after a few hands, but Stubbs was a little slow on the uptake.)

 

Stubbs was the main contributor to the stack of cash and chips piled in front of Ginny, but everyone around the table has lost at least one hand to her tonight. Mike doesn’t mind being down a few (hundred) bucks; he thinks it’s a fair price to pay for the privilege of hearing that horsey laugh again.

 

Salvamini is the only person, other than Baker, who may leave tonight richer than he came, earning some diaper funds from Dusty as he predicted. The only reason for his success is that he figured out after about two hands which way the wind was blowing and made a strategic move to fold out of any hand Ginny played.

 

Mike’s got to admit it’s a fair strategy, but he’s enjoying seeing Ginny’s game face too much to adopt it himself. Besides, he kind of likes trying to figure out her tells. He’s so used to paying attention to her microexpressions when she’s pitching, trying to figure out if she’s hurting, or tense, or if she still has control of her curveball. There’s something fascinating about trying to figure out what those expressions mean in this context. He’s beginning to realize that what he finds fascinating is simply her, regardless of context.

 

He’s getting a better sense of her as a poker player, even if he still needs to learn how to tell whether she’s got a weak hand or is totally bluffing. Mike actually won a hand off her earlier, the only person other than Blip who’s managed that so far. She’d given him a head nod to mark his little victory, and for a brief moment it felt like they were back in sync.

 

“Okay, boys and Baker,” Mike says, grabbing the deck Sonny passed to him for his turn as dealer. “It’s time to wind this down. We’ve got a game to win tomorrow, after all.” 

 

“Oh, thank god.” Stubbs mutters, sadly counting his remaining stack.

 

There’s some groaning and stretching as everyone moves to stand. Mike refuses to let himself make any more of a fuss than any of his teammates, but his back cracks audibly and he has to bite back a curse.

 

“Are we leaving the table set up for tomorrow?” Sal asks, gathering empty bottles to put in the trash.

 

Mike hesitates to answer. Road trip poker traditionally was a multi-night event, but he’s not sure if the team, especially Blip and Ginny, are ready to spend another night with him yet.

 

“Oooh, can we?” Ginny sounds so excited. Mike’s heart definitely does not leap.

 

“We may have to come up with some different stakes though,” Sonny flicks Ginny’s ponytail, “so Baker doesn’t make us all broke.”

 

“We’ll think of something,” Mike nods. “Tomorrow night, same time. Now grab your stuff and get out of here. I need some sleep to be at my best tomorrow.”

 

He pointedly ignores the few jibes at his expense as the team gathers their things and heads to the door. Butch claps him on the shoulder on his way out.

 

There’s a chorus of goodbyes, both to him and between the others. Blip gives him a head nod as he leaves; not quite friendly, but with less animosity than there’s been between them the last few weeks.

 

“G’night, old man.” Ginny pauses in the doorway. He shouldn’t be so excited to hear her use that teasing nickname for him again.

 

“Night, Rookie.”

 

He closes the door behind them and heads to his bedroom, leaving the remaining mess around the poker table for the morning. He studies at his face in the mirror as he brushes his teeth, finding fewer stress markers than he’s seen since before the almost-trade.

 

Mike climbs into bed, letting his tired muscles relax into the mattress. For the first time in weeks, he’s not worried about what tomorrow will bring, and falls, relatively quickly, asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come say hi on [tumblr](http://monkshoodr.tumblr.com/) anytime.


	3. Call

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This took a bit of an unexpected turn, so I've broken this chapter up into two (and upped the chapter count accordingly). The second half should be done in a day or two.
> 
> Thank you all for the support on this.

Mike wakes up to the sound of his ringing cell phone a couple of hours before his alarm was set to go off. He pats his hand over the surface of his bedside table until he finds the offending object, bringing it to his ear to answer with his eyes still closed. Somebody better be dead or dying to merit calling him this early the morning after a night game. 

   


“Yeah?” He doesn’t bother to hide his annoyance.

   


“You’ve been ignoring my calls.”

  


Dammit.

  
  
“Rach…”

  
  
“No, Mike, you have. Sorry for waking you up, but I figured this would be the only way I could trick you into answering.”

  
  
“Rachel, I—”

  
  
“I saw David yesterday.”

  
  
“Oh.”

  
  
“We had a talk, and I...look, Mike, you need to tell me what you want.”

   


“Sounds to me like you don’t even know what you want.” Mike pulls himself to a sitting position, scrubbing a hand over his face to help drag the sleep away. God, he needs coffee for this.

  
  
“Are you retiring?”

  
  
“Trying to get the inside scoop?”

  
  
“No, trying to figure out if you’re ready to make time for me and to move into commentating. We’d make a good team.”

  
  
It’s the word choice that catches him. Mike knows teams, having spent years playing with the Padres, but also playing batterymate to a succession of pitchers. He knows what makes a good partnership on the field, and how often the success of that partnership is due to a good relationship off the field. Chemistry between players only goes so far if you can’t agree on a game plan. And that, he realizes, is the crux of the matter.

  
  
“Would we?” He barely lets himself pause at the sharp intake of breath from the other end of the line. He needs to power through this. “Honestly, Rach, I’m not sure any more. I think if things had worked out the way we’d wanted them to in the beginning, everything would have been fine, but now...”

  
  
“Mike…”

  
  
“Don’t you think we’ve changed?” He wants to get up and pace, but he doesn’t want to interrupt the flow of his words with the groan he knows will come from getting out of bed. “Your career took off and took you to L.A. My career lasted longer than you wanted it to, even if it seems too short to me. We were hardly in the same city half the time. Even with more money than either of us could have ever dreamed of having growing up, we couldn’t make a schedule work with such busy lives. Then David happened—”

   


“You were never there, Mike—”

  
  
“You knew what baseball schedules were like going into our relationship, Rachel, don’t act like you were blindsided by how much travel is involved.” Mike pinches the bridge of his nose and blows out a long breath. “I’m not sure I can ever get past the David thing—the fact that it happened. You could have talked to me, we could have tried counselling.”

  
  
“I did talk to you! I tried! You kept blowing me off with your grand hopes for a phase two of your career where we would have time for each other again.” Rachel’s voice drops to a whisper. “You used to make so much time for me, Mike, in the beginning. You remember? Everything you did to convince me to date you when I was trying so hard to prove I could be serious about my career? And then we got married and you let that slide. You chased me, and then once you had me you didn’t know what to do with me.”

  
  
“That’s not fair.” Mike gives in to his need to stand, swinging his legs over the side of the bed and breathing through the inevitable back spasm. “We moved to L.A. for you, and we both knew that would mean I would have to spend more time away from home in order to keep playing for San Diego. I thought we were on the same page about managing the distance for a few years. It was supposed to be temporary, and then we’d have the rest of our lives to…I just…you can’t put the cheating entirely on me. You made that choice.”

  
  
“But you—“

  
  
“No, Rach. I’ll admit I was absent in the end, and I knew you were upset about that, but you never talked to me about wanting or needing someone else.” He clenched his fist tight to his muscled thigh. “And then you stayed with him. It wasn’t just a physical thing. You emotionally cheated as well.”

  
  
“So that’s it, then? You can’t get over it?” He can hear the hitch of her breathing through the line.

  
  
“I loved you.” His voice is soft and breaking. “I’ll probably always love you in some way, Rachel. But I’m not sure we can bridge that gap. Honestly, I’m not sure that’s what either of us want.”

  
  
“Mike…”

  
  
“No, really. I think the only reason we’re both still hanging on to this is the way it ended. We need some closure so we can move on.” He gives himself a few heartbeats to mourn the end of this relationship, finally coming to accept that Rachel will not be a part of his future the way he had wanted her to be for so long. “I’m done. No more chasing after you. I need to figure out my future plans, and not hold on to old dreams.”

  
  
“So, you’ve figured out what you really want then?”

  
  
“I think I’m getting there.” Mike refuses to let his mind wander back to that night in the hospital. He needs to finish this on its own terms. “You said you saw David yesterday. Does that mean you’re getting back together with him?”

  
  
“Maybe. He and I were good for a while. But you...you always mess me up.” He can’t tell from her voice whether she’s smiling or frowning, and he wishes, for the first time, that they’d done this face-to-face. “What if he doesn’t take me back?”

  
  
“He will.” Mike is suddenly sure that he’ll be getting a wedding invitation within a year. “You’re pretty great.”

  
  
“Yeah, you are too. I love you Mike. You’ll make someone really happy someday.”

  
  
“Someday.”

  
  
“We had a good run,” she says. “Time to sign the papers and end it for real?”

  
  
“Yeah, I think so.” Mike blinks back a few unbidden tears. “I’m adding a condition to the divorce papers though: your mom’s pie recipe.”

  
  
Rachel laughs out loud. “You know she’d give it to you if you asked her. She wanted to send you one last Christmas.”

  
  
“Damn it, why didn’t she?”

   


“I’ll make sure you get one this year, and the recipe.”

  
  
“Good.” He doesn’t know how to end this call, knowing it will permanently close a chapter of his life.

  
  
“If I call you’ll answer from now on, right?” She always was better at taking the lead than him.

  
  
“Promise.”

  
  
“You’d better.” There’s a long pause. “Goodbye Mike.”

  
  
“Bye Rach.” 

  
  
Mike disconnects the call and sits on the edge of the bed. He doesn’t move for a long, long time.

   


* * *

   


It takes a little longer than usual for Kiki to work through the kinks in his back and hip, so by the time he gets himself into uniform and into the clubhouse pre-batting practice, most of the team is already there.

  
  
“Thanks again for last night, Lawson.” Salvamini looks cheery, his grin widening as Dusty glares his way. “Glad to have some funds to supplement the diaper budget.”

  


“Seriously man,” Voorhies grumbles. “Aren’t your kids getting a little old for diapers by now?”

  


“Well, actually…”

  


“No way, again?” Sonny claps Sal on the back. “Are you trying for your own baseball team?”

  


A chorus of congratulations and teasing follows this announcement. Out of the corner of his eye, Mike can see Blip still facing his cubby, gripping his uniform shirt tight enough to wrinkle. He makes a move in his direction but comes to an abrupt stop when Ginny catches his eye to shake him off.

  


He can’t even enjoy the fact that Ginny’s made an effort to communicate with him in the clubhouse for the first time in since her injury, because he’s too distracted by Blip’s uncharacteristic reaction to the news. Mike watches Blip’s shoulders rise and fall with a slow, deliberate breath before he turns around to smile at Sal. 

  
  
“Congrats, man.”

  
  
“Thanks guys and gal.” Salvi claps his hands together. “Now, if anyone wants to join in contributing to the diaper fund at poker tonight—”

  


“Wait, no. We said different stakes last night.” Stubbs says, a little frantic.

  
  
“Yeah, I can’t afford to play against Salvi and Ginny here,” Blip waves a hand in Baker’s direction. “My wife is starting a restaurant and she still bought two purses last week. Two.”

  


Alarm bells start going off in Mike’s head at Blip’s tone, and the lack of its usual teasing note when he talks about Evelyn. He has a sneaking suspicion that he’s figured out what’s wrong with Blip. Mike keeps Ginny’s subtle wave off in mind, but knows he needs to repair things quickly to get Blip to talk to him.

  
  
“Different stakes? You mean I’m going to miss Mami bankrupting Stubbs?” Livan smirks, slinging an arm around Ginny’s shoulders and laughing as she shrugs him off.

  
  
Mike grinds his teeth together. 

  
  
“We could play strip poker,” Omar suggests without thinking. The clubhouse goes silent, apart from the scraping of chairs as both Mike and Blip stand up. 

  


Omar blushes bright red and looks everywhere but Ginny. “I mean….no...that wasn’t….I didn’t…”

  


He’s saved from injury by Ginny’s laugh. “Maybe not the best idea, Omar. But if everyone played like they did last night, I’d be the one getting a show.” 

  


“Yeah, I don’t need to see Butch’s ripped underwear.” Sonny scrunches his face in disgust. “I see enough of that in the locker room. And we’ve all seen Mike’s junk.”

  


“I haven’t.” A few heads whip in Ginny’s direction at the admission. Mike has to bite back an offer to show her. 

  


He clears his throat instead. “Strip poker isn’t happening, no matter how much you love seeing me naked, Evers. Other suggestions?”

  


“Dares or favours?” Voorhies offers. “It would make me really happy if I could watch Salvi wash my car.”

  


“That work for everyone?” Mike asks, looking around for the nods in agreement. “Alright, anyone free tonight is ordered to the captain’s room after the game. Now let’s go out there and win this thing.”   


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come say hi on [tumblr](http://monkshoodr.tumblr.com)


	4. Raise

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My sincerest apologies for the long time between updates! Real life has been kind of insane, and I've had no time for writing or reading fic.  
> I hope the chapter is worth the wait, and I'll try to get the last one out in a more reasonable time frame.

Mike isn’t sure if it’s the prospect of making teammates do dares, or the promise that Baker wouldn’t bankrupt anyone, but the crowd of Padres in his hotel room is larger tonight than last night. They’d all come over surprisingly soon after the game finished, arriving in big groups that pushed their way into his suite. 

 

He was grateful that Rachel’s early phone call had given him time to clean up and prepare this morning, because he wouldn’t have had time otherwise. As it was, he’d barely had time to throw his game bag into his bedroom closet and call down to the front desk for snacks before the first knock on his door.

  
  
They’re buoyed by their earlier win, an easy 4-1 victory backed by a strong outing from Sonny, and come in boisterous and cheerful, jostling each other for seats at the table. Sal and Javanes distribute drinks, restocking the fridge as players arrive with beer. (Mike wants to remind them that it’s a day game tomorrow, but he knows most of them can manage their own alcohol intake. He makes a mental note to count Melky’s beers though.)

  
  
Livan arrives with bags of food, announcing to everyone that he’s found a restaurant that makes food that tastes like home—too bad San Diego is so far away from Miami. Mike wonders for a brief moment if Livan brought all that food just for himself, to stock up until he can find quality Cuban meals again, but Livan starts opening containers on the counter and inviting everyone to dig in. Mike almost feels charitable toward him, but then Livan claims the seat on Ginny’s right—her injured! —side, and the feeling passes. (Although watching Omar deflate as he loses his spot beside Ginny and has to settle for the seat next to Livan is almost worth it.)

  
  
Ginny smiles at Livan over her shoulder as he takes his seat, giving him a quiet welcome before going back to the intense whispering battle she’s having with Blip on her other side. Blip has been tense and anti-social since before the game (since Sal’s big announcement, Mike’s mind supplies). Mike hopes that Blip came tonight because he wanted to come, and not because Ginny dragged him along with her. Maybe it’ll help cheer him up.

  
  
Mike waits to start proceedings until most of the team have enough snacks and drinks to satisfy their post-game hunger. “Okay everyone, listen up.” He has to hold back a snort at how quickly everyone drops into the unclaimed seats, all eyes on him. “We’re playing Texas Hold ‘Em. The stakes are a forfeit of a dare or a favour to the winner of the hand. If you fold, you do not lose a forfeit; only players still in the hand after the river must pay the price to the person with the winning hand.”

  
  
Most of the players are nodding along as he explains. Stubbs looks both relieved and slightly devious as he narrows his eyes at Ginny.

  
  
“Now, ground rules,” Mike uses his best captain voice and makes eye contact with everyone around the table, taking extra time to glare at Livan who smirks back. “Do not pick a dare that is illegal. Do not pick a dare that will result in your teammate having to sleep on the couch. Do not pick a dare that is degrading to women or I’ll let Baker kick your ass. We still want to be able to respect each other in the morning. Is that clear?”

  
  
He waits for every nod and verbal “yes, Cap,” before shuffling the deck to deal. “Alright then, boys and Baker, let’s have some fun.”

* * *

  
It only takes a few hands to show the difference in play from the night before. Without the prospect of losing money (or maybe with the incentive of being able to boss around a teammate), more of the Padres are willing to risk playing hands. Almost everyone commits blinds to every hand regardless of hole cards, and the folds only start after the flop.

  
  
Ginny wins the first hand and demands that Omar carry her bags for the rest of the season. Not that she’d been carrying her own bags since the injury, but she usually had to wheedle someone into doing her the favour. Assigning it permanently to Omar saves her the trouble. (Mike stares at the rising flush on Omar’s cheeks and wonders if he can somehow sneak a brick into Ginny’s bag in the morning and then remove it before she sees it later.)

  
  
\--

  
  
Mike, Melky and Sonny all lose out to Butch’s full house and are ordered to wear all of their clothes inside out tomorrow – with the exception of their uniform. Mike ignores the debate on whether jockstraps count as clothing, and instead is mentally cataloging the clothes he packed and wondering which would be least uncomfortable to wear inside out for the long flight back to San Diego. 

  
  
\--

  
  
Blip’s pair of queens come up short against Melky’s trips and he is dared to challenge Billy the Marlin to a dance off during warm ups before tomorrow’s game. 

  
  
“It won’t even be a competition, man.” Blip shakes his head in Melky’s direction. “Everyone will want a piece of me after they see my moves.”

  
  
“And if I ask them to play country?”

  
  
“I think I can figure out how to line dance,” Blip ignores the scoffs and snorts from the rest of the table. “Just wait and see.”

  
  
\--

  
  
Stubbs curses quietly when Ginny folds after the turn card, but catches Livan on the river. 

  
  
“Is that what you were planning to make me do?” Ginny asks Stubbs, talking over Livan’s phone conversation with the hotel staff. 

  
  
“….no?” Stubbs’ reply is unconvincing.

  
  
Mike rolls his eyes and can’t help but grin as Ginny does the same. He stands up and grabs the phone from Livan, interrupting his attempt to order a litre of diet water, and apologizes to the concierge. He’s going to have to leave a huge tip tomorrow.

  
  
\--

  
  
“Ha! I knew you were bluffing!” Salvamini crows as he shows his two pair. “Didn’t quite get the straight, huh?”

  
  
“No, damn it.” Javanes grumbles. “What do you want?”

  
  
“Bring me a coffee every day for the rest of this season and next season.”

  
  
“That’s it? Seriously?”

  
  
“You don’t understand. My wife threw out all the caffeine and alcohol in the house. I need the coffee to live.”

  
  
“Hold up,” Melky interrupts. “Why didn’t she donate the alcohol to the Padres end of the season drinks fund?”

  
  
\--

  
  
“No, I won’t do it.” Butch folds his arms across his chest and practically pouts.

  
  
“C’mon man, you lost fair and square,” Dusty tsks. “Throw out the damn socks. That hole in the toe is so big you can practically fit your entire foot through it.”

  
  
“They’re my lucky socks.”

  
  
“You can’t have more than one pair of lucky socks! They can’t all be lucky!”

  
  
“Which ones were you wearing when you blew the save last week?” Sonny asks, trying not to laugh. “Those ones aren’t lucky anymore.”

  
  
\--

  
  
“Okay, my followers are ready,” Blip holds out his phone to record. “Coming to you live from Miami, the vocal stylings of your second favourite outfielder! Take it away Stubbs!”

  
  
“Second favourite, my ass,” Stubbs grumbles before starting an over the top rendition of ‘Have a Little Faith in Me.’ 

  
  
It settles into a straight take on the song when Ginny joins in, her raspy alto perfectly harmonizing on the chorus. The rest of the Padres go silent as the duet continues, saving their cheers and applause for the end when Ginny and Stubbs smile at each other as they fade out on the final note.

  
  
“What the hell, Baker,” Mike interrupts the cheering. “How can you sing like that when your humming in the gym is so goddamn awful?”

  
  
“It’s not awful!”

  
  
“Sorry, Ginny, it kind of is,” Blip chimes in as he puts his phone away. “If I didn’t already know you were the karaoke queen, I wouldn’t believe it.”

  
  
“Well,” Ginny huffs, “you try humming when you’re working out and get back to me.”

  
  
\--

  
  
“Seriously, man, I’m ashamed of you.” Dusty scolds Melky as he shrinks down in his seat. “The ‘is your fridge running?’ gag was the best prank call you could come up with?”

  
  
“It’s the skip! I panicked!” Melky folds his cards without looking at them and leans forward to softly bang his head against the table.

  
  
\--

  
  
Ginny squints at Mike over her cards. She’s got her game face on, the one he’s so used to staring at from over sixty feet away. He narrows his eyes at her.

  
  
“Think you’ve got what it takes, old man?”

  
  
There’s a chorus of ‘oohs’ from the rest of the Padres, who have all folded out of the hand already. 

  
  
“Show ‘em, Rookie, if you’re willing to risk it.”

  
  
Ginny flips her hole cards with a slam. “Flush, Lawson. Let’s see you beat that.”

  
  
Mike smirks. “Whaddaya know? I also have a flush, but I’ve got the nuts.” He turns over his cards to show the ace of clubs.

  
  
Ginny’s game face stays, but her eyes widen slightly. “Alright, you got me. What do you want?”

  
  
Too many possibilities come to mind; too many things he wants but can’t ask her for in this way. (Admit you love the beard. Tell me about the poster on your bedroom wall. Sit beside me in the dugout tomorrow. Come over here and let’s recreate that night on the sidewalk without the interruption….)

  
  
“Have some ropa vieja, Baker. One spoonful.”

  
  
She wrinkles her nose at him. “I hate you so much right now.”

  
  
“Yeah, yeah. Pay up, Rookie.”

  
  
Ginny stalks over to the counter and grabs a spoonful, making a big show of plugging her nose as she swallows it down. She comes over to his side to stick her tongue out and show him her empty mouth. He’s so damn tempted to get rid of her bratty expression by giving her another use for that tongue.

  
  
“What’s wrong with my food, Mami?” Livan is looking at her like she’d keyed his car right in front of him.

  
  
“Cilantro,” she shudders.

  
  
\--

  
  
She gets her own back a few hands later, laying down a straight to beat the pairs and trips from Mike, Sonny, Stubbs and Javanes. 

  
  
The full on, dimpled, sunshine grin is a sight he’s missed, and he’ll take it, even at his own expense.

  
  
“There will be a sign, boys, saying ‘Ginny Baker is a better poker player than me.’” She raises her eyebrows, daring them to contradict her on that point. “You are each going to hold it in the dugout during the game tomorrow. On camera.”

  
  
Blip gives her a high five. 

  
  
\--

  
  
“I’m gonna have to do so many baserunning drills,” Livan groans, his head in his hands.

  
  
Ginny’s rubbing his back, but can’t stop laughing at his failed attempt to ding-dong-dash.

  
  
“Serves you right,” Mike says, a little too harshly as he glares at Ginny’s hand. “If you can’t make it to the end of the hallway in the time it takes Buck to get to his hotel room door, you deserve a few drills.”

  
  
“Want to race, old timer?” Livan challenges. “Think your knees are up for it?”

  
  
No. He doesn’t. But he’ll do it if he has to, and ignore the worried look Ginny’s throwing his way. At least she’s taken her hand off.

  
  
“No racing,” Blip says. “You two can come up with some other way to manage your egos, but we need Mike healthy. We need both of you healthy.”

  
  
“If either of you join me on the DL,” Ginny stares both of them down. “I’ll kick your asses.”

  
  
\--

  
  
“Really? Even without cash bets, I still lose?” Dusty throws his hands up in frustration.

  
  
“What can I say? I told you – you have a tell.” Sal’s grin splits his bearded face. “I want a dramatic death scene on camera tomorrow during an interview. Make it good enough to make the highlight reel.”

  
  
“I hate you so damn much.”

  
  
“Nah, you love me.” Sal bumps his shoulder against Dusty’s. 

  
  
“And I’m sure we’re all looking forward to Voorhies’ acting debut,” Mike interrupts, raking the cards in towards him. “But we all need to get some sleep tonight, so we don’t embarrass ourselves completely during the game tomorrow.”

  
  
“Speak for yourself,” Dusty says. “No amount of sleep is going to help this.” 

  
  
“Lawson’s right,” Blip says as he pushes back his chair. “Time to pack it in.”

 

The Padres get up in stages, some choosing to stretch where they sit, gathering poker chips to pack into the case. Livan moves to the counter to pack away his remaining food, and shaking his head at Ginny one last time. 

 

“So, does road trip poker mean you’re being properly social again?” Sonny asks as he rinses empty beer bottles in the sink. “Is the end of the year party at your place? ‘Cause I haven’t seen that glass eyesore in person yet…”

 

Mike hesitates just long enough to catch Blip’s eye. Blip gives a slight–though not particularly enthusiastic–nod, and something tight loosens in Mike’s chest. “Yeah, the party’s at my place. And if you think you need to shield your eyes, it’ll make it that much easier for me to kick your ass at pool.”

 

“Oooh, it’s on, Lawson.”

 

Butch claps him on the back as he makes his way out the door. Omar gives him an awkward wave, and only slightly stammers through telling Ginny he’ll come by her room to pick up her bags in the morning. A slightly drunk Melky is hugging everyone as they leave and almost headbutts Mike as he says goodbye. Sal and Stubbs each grab one of his arms to steer him down the hallway.

 

“Night Mike, thanks for this.” Ginny waves her injured hand, her dimples deepening slightly.

 

“Yeah, Mike,” Blip’s voice is quiet compared to their boisterous teammates. “Thanks.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come say hi on [tumblr](http://monkshood.tumblr.com).


End file.
